


turn out the light.

by holdingnotoyou



Category: Real Person Fiction, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Established Relationship, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Minor mentions of physical abuse, Moon, Technically?, Trench Era, minor mentions of self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 00:21:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17011938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holdingnotoyou/pseuds/holdingnotoyou
Summary: "i seek out each night / the days refuse me."





	turn out the light.

**Author's Note:**

> roughly inspired by [this quote](http://adrasteiax.tumblr.com/post/181153659590/i-seek-out-each-night-the-days-refuse-me).

The thing about looking at the moon is that Tyler knows when he looks up at it, he's not the only one looking at it. 

He can feel in the blood that pulses through his veins, the muscles that settle around his bones and beneath his skin, in the ringing of his ears--he's not the only one with eyes on the white crystal in the sky, not the only one whose attention is drawn to it like a moth to a flame. There's a connection that draws the two of them together, even with the miles that are between them currently. 

He's sat in his twin-sized bed, elbows against the wooden windowsill through the thin cotton material of his hoodie, eyes trained on the moon as they are every night. It never moves; he can always guarantee that when he's laying in the pitch darkness, curtains drawn and a pillow over his head, if he just reaches out, shifts enough to open the curtain, the moon will be there and he'll be able to feel Josh in his bones, just like he does every night. 

It's the only connection they have left now; there's stretches of land between them, Josh is on the outside, miles away tucked in a camp with other Banditos who were lucky enough to escape. Josh is on the outside, free from the confines of DEMA and the heavy hand of the Bishops who are calling for his head. He's always been a lucky one, Tyler always told him that.

Where Josh has always been destined to succeed, he's always destined to fail. Where Josh was excited whispers while tucking clothes into a duffle bag tucked at the foot of the bed, Tyler's always been shaking hands and smiles that never quite reached his eyes with the same excitement that his boyfriend mirrored. Tyler was always destined to be stuck here, trapped in the concrete confines of the metaphorical chessboard the Bishops that built for their sick game. It's something that he knows every time he packs a bag, every time the evening his lulled into its deafening silence, every time the gravel is crushed beneath his feet as he tries. He tries, and he tries, and _he tries._

He never succeeds. 

At this point, he's lost hope. He never told Josh when they were planning their escape between bated breaths, between fingers tangled in messy hair and lips crashing into bits of skin like waves. There's no escape for him from DEMA, not any time soon. Not in this lifetime. The Bishops watch him through the vultures, through the peering eyes that watch his every move as he walks to work. There's not an escape from this place, the concrete walls and the fake grass, and the lack of color. 

Maybe it's why they're both drawn to the moon; it's the closest thing that Tyler can get to the yellow reminder of safety. It's the closest thing he has that serves as a reminder that he's not alone in this prison of his own creation; Josh is still _there_ , Josh is still fighting for him. No matter how often Tyler wills the moon to tide Josh into giving up hope, the only message he receives back is the murmuring of his heart telling him that Josh isn't giving up. 

He spends more time than he thinks is healthy talking to her, it, _him_. He tells Josh everything through the proxy that he can get the information out; spends hours with his legs tucked up beneath his chin, fingers pressing into the bruises of his skin that had been left by the Bishops or digging into his palm, his wrist, his thigh hard enough to draw blood as he wills the universe to bring Josh back to him.

He tells Josh about how there's no life without him, without Josh's fingers pressed against his skin or Josh's fingers in his hair or Josh full-stop. He tells Josh about how, before they'd met, before Josh had shown up one afternoon in Tyler's boring life, he'd been contemplating the worth of being alive in a place where being alive is the equivalent of being buried alive six-feet underground. 

He tells Josh about how he wishes that they'd made it out together, tells Josh that he's never going to make it out, tells Josh to _give up on him,_ _please_. 

The same murmur comes as his tear-stained eyes glaze over with the illuminating light of the moon. No one is giving up. 

Tyler loses track of the days without Josh; before, when they'd been together, when he'd wake up in Josh's arms in the middle of the night with the racing pulse of his heart telling him that _it's coming, they're coming, he's never going to make it out--_ there was the reminder of Josh's fingers pressed against his bare skin reminding him that they had months, weeks, days, hours before they weren't going to be there anymore. And Josh.

Josh won when Tyler didn't. Tyler thinks every night about how he wishes he had been as lucky as Josh had. 

The only reason he knows them is because the nights remind him; he can look anywhere in his room and there's _Josh_ , from the little scraps of paper he had written Tyler reminders on to one of his old, worn from years of sweat and emotion tucked up in the concrete prison.

There's nothing for Tyler in the day time, only quiet voices in the office and the empty stares that are given to him by those who watch. There's no reminder of Josh in the day time, only the constant reminder that Josh is _gone_ and Tyler's _stuck_. The night seeks him out, with the same warm feeling he always had when Josh's fingertips were pressed against his skin and the quiet lull of his own heart racing in his chest as he gets time to talk to Josh. 

He feels crazy when he finds himself looking forward to seeing the moon illuminating his windowsill and spilling across the navy blue carpet that looks like it'll swallow Tyler whole in the middle of the night. He feels sane when he's there, reminding Josh that _he's there. He'll always be there._

Where Josh will always be in his body, in his veins, in his heart, Tyler will always be in DEMA. He's reminded when curtains shuffle across the courtyard, black eyes peering into his own as he tries desperately to will Josh to get to him quicker. 

Josh can't come back, he knows. Despite how badly Tyler wants him back in his bed, in his arms, underneath his fingertips. There's a bounty on his head, a bounty on all of those who escaped and weren't found by the Bishops first. Tyler figures he's lucky that he was found by a Bishop and not a stranger. Where the Bishops will torture you for months on end, shattering the last pieces of your soul, strangers in DEMA had no remorse for the Banditos. Being buried alive in your diminishing soul is better than being buried in a shallow ditch with a bullet in the back of your head, he muses. He tells Josh as much.

The thing about looking at the moon is that Tyler knows when he looks up at it, he's not the only one looking at it. The thing about looking at the moon is that Josh is out there, somewhere, looking back and telling Tyler to not give up. 

He figures he can live another day, another month, another year as long as Josh is under the same moon. 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](http://clancies.tumblr.com).


End file.
